Aurelia
over the riots
above all the noise
above all the noise
In this moment it’s impossible to lean away from his comforts, from the warmth in his arms as he pulls her away from the nightmare in her head. Trying to part the dark clouds, purify the muddy water. It’s a hard effort she makes to numb herself to the smoke that sticks to the walls of her lungs, blackening and corrupting; the unpleasant embers in her belly that crackle still as if ready to consume her in flames at any moment.
She relents instead to the sound of his voice. Held tightly in his embrace, she's forced to focus on him and the present. What he’s just said to her is more than just a good point, it’s the truth. It’s not lost on her, either. Regardless, she is stubborn and it's all too hard to admit the defeat. The best she can do is remain silent, not that she would want to argue with him. She knows he's right.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she rests her forehead against his shoulder and lets the air go in a long sigh. The muscles in her back shift to relax with it. She leans into him more gently now; no longer throwing herself into her agony or trying to resolve against his soft edges. She reaches for his neck with a knowing hand, not needing to look, not able to yet. Her trembling is steadied only when her fingers can feel warm skin beneath the collar of his shirt. Normally, she might've let this be it. She might've let her body speak its own language and spell out all the depths she’d dare not speak aloud. And for a little while, it seems like that's what she'll do.
But those walls that keep her emotions at bay have broken down. ”I'm sorry, Milo,” her cracked voice breaks the silence. Her head lifts to incline her chin toward him. She meets his gaze to search for something overwhelmed; battered and harmed by her oh-so-heavy existence. ”I’m sorry you had to be the one to pick up the pieces,” her lips form a quivering frown, brows shifting toward concern and regret. Her gaze slowly fills with tears again, although these ones aren’t for herself. Her fingers make their way up the column of his neck, cherishing every inch it takes to be able to smooth her thumb over his cheek, pressing a gentle dimple there.
”But I’m so glad you were there... I wouldn't have made it if it weren't for you. Milo, all I kept thinking was that I just... I just wanted to see your face again. Be here with you again. I didn't want to leave you here, at all, especially after what you'd done for me,” she chokes back a sob, "I thought that if I found out more, it would make things better." But it didn't.
She relents instead to the sound of his voice. Held tightly in his embrace, she's forced to focus on him and the present. What he’s just said to her is more than just a good point, it’s the truth. It’s not lost on her, either. Regardless, she is stubborn and it's all too hard to admit the defeat. The best she can do is remain silent, not that she would want to argue with him. She knows he's right.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she rests her forehead against his shoulder and lets the air go in a long sigh. The muscles in her back shift to relax with it. She leans into him more gently now; no longer throwing herself into her agony or trying to resolve against his soft edges. She reaches for his neck with a knowing hand, not needing to look, not able to yet. Her trembling is steadied only when her fingers can feel warm skin beneath the collar of his shirt. Normally, she might've let this be it. She might've let her body speak its own language and spell out all the depths she’d dare not speak aloud. And for a little while, it seems like that's what she'll do.
But those walls that keep her emotions at bay have broken down. ”I'm sorry, Milo,” her cracked voice breaks the silence. Her head lifts to incline her chin toward him. She meets his gaze to search for something overwhelmed; battered and harmed by her oh-so-heavy existence. ”I’m sorry you had to be the one to pick up the pieces,” her lips form a quivering frown, brows shifting toward concern and regret. Her gaze slowly fills with tears again, although these ones aren’t for herself. Her fingers make their way up the column of his neck, cherishing every inch it takes to be able to smooth her thumb over his cheek, pressing a gentle dimple there.
”But I’m so glad you were there... I wouldn't have made it if it weren't for you. Milo, all I kept thinking was that I just... I just wanted to see your face again. Be here with you again. I didn't want to leave you here, at all, especially after what you'd done for me,” she chokes back a sob, "I thought that if I found out more, it would make things better." But it didn't.
through all the worry
i still hear your voice
i still hear your voice
